


A Lesser Tyranny

by thesilenceinbetween



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Death, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Heavy Angst, Jossed, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Suicide Attempt, self-starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilenceinbetween/pseuds/thesilenceinbetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young Queen Regina discovers that she is carrying the King's child, she grows ever more desperate for freedom.  Unfortunately, her needs are not compatible with her mother's plans.  Takes place in an AU where Cora never went through the looking glass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesser Tyranny

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic way back in July 2012. When it was Jossed by 2x02 only a few sections from completion, I let this story fall by the wayside, more or less, for a year. I owe the lovely 13pens/crykovsky a serious debt of gratitude for giving me the encouragement and the kick in the ass needed to finally finish this thing, and for spending hours editing and revising and critiquing with me. My thanks also goes out to ladyfortunas, deemn/deemnfic, damelola, tonguemarksonmystepgranddaughter, and corasqueen for their encouragement and fantastic feedback on how to approach such sensitive topics. Thank you so very much, ladies. <3

“We have to call it ‘freedom’: who’d want to die for ‘a lesser tyranny’?” — Mignon McLaughlin, _The Neurotic’s Notebook_

*

_Prologue_

“I would offer Your Majesty my congratulations, but I daresay you’ve received enough for one night.”

Regina’s grip tightens around her champagne flute, the liquid inside sloshing around ungracefully. There are a hundred things that she would love to say in response, but she trusts not even an inch of this deceptively pleasant woman to say any one of them. Even Leopold seems to fear her, choosing to risk his long-standing alliance with King Stefan over offending Maleficent. “I think that one can never receive enough congratulations in happy times,” she says instead, draining her glass in punctuation. She’s always hated champagne, finding its effervescence more painful than pleasant, but tonight it’s numbing her tongue quite nicely to all of her falsely cheerful words.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Maleficent titters, her teeth gleaming pearly white and so, so sharp in the dim light of this darkened corner of the ballroom where Regina has been trying to hide, “but I think that if one more person offers you congratulations, your jaw will snap in half.”

Regina opens her mouth to respond, but quickly snaps it shut when a trembling footman appears with another bottle of champagne. All of the servants have been particularly attentive towards her flute this evening, raising her anxiety level even higher. She knows what is expected of her now that she is a wife; she knows why the King might prefer her sedate and pliant tonight.

“Even if your body language didn’t give it away,” Maleficent continues, her tone affable and light, “I’d know by the way that you’re avoiding your new family like the plague... and by the way that they haven’t even registered your absence.”

At the center of the ballroom, Snow White clasps her father’s hands in her own, laughing and giggling merrily as they spin around the room, no care in their movements to match the musicians’ melody. Regina’s heart clenches at the sight of the two of them, her new jailors. It’s madness, she knows, to harbor such rage and resentment towards a child who meant no harm with her breach of secrecy, and yet every time Regina sees a smile grace her stepdaughter’s lips, it’s as if her heart is turning into coal within her very chest.

“It’s not wrong to hate them, you know.” Maleficent’s voice is hushed, the soft whisperings of a demon on her shoulder. Her breath tickles the shell of Regina’s ear as she adds, “They’ve stolen your youth, your life... and with the help of the one person, above all others, who was supposed to protect and care for you.”

Regina closes her eyes and breathes deeply, trying to fight the stinging urge to cry. She keeps trying so hard not to think about it, but there is no other thought powerful enough to distract her from the truth of her situation: every single person whom she has ever loved has betrayed her, in one way or another, and had their part in trapping her here in Leopold’s prison of a palace like an animal lured into a cage. And now, she is alone — already, the noblewomen at court have made it quite clear that her countryside innocence and common pedigree will never be welcomed in their circles. And why should they, when the King has already made it so abundantly plain which wife, and which woman in his life at present, he cherishes most?

Snow White’s squeal of delight cuts through Regina’s thoughts, carrying across the ballroom as she leaps into her new grandmother’s arms. It makes Regina’s stomach churn and the breath catch in her throat to see Cora stroke Snow’s cheek so tenderly, as if the child has managed to make her happy through the simple feat of existing. Regina has spent her entire life trying to do the same, to win just an ounce of her mother’s love, but in eighteen years, she has not once managed to obtain what Snow has succeeded in securing in just a few short weeks. It feels like she’s dying, as if she’s drowning in a sea of her own rage and heartbreak at the sight them together, and yet there is still a part of her that aches to rush forward and protect Snow from the complete and utter corruption that she knows lies in Cora’s arms.

“It’s not wrong to want vengeance.” Maleficent’s words drag Regina back to the present; she wipes furiously at her eyes before turning away from the two people who seem so determined to drive her to madness.

“And you would offer me that vengeance?” Regina asks, trying to make her tone sound like that of a queen, sharp and steady and in control. To her own ears, though, she still sounds like a little girl playing dress-up in her mommy’s clothes. “How?”

The corners of Maleficent’s mouth curve upward with amusement. “Why, with magic, of course. I could teach you _so_ much—”

“No!” The word comes out in a panic, because Regina can only think of this morning, and how she was too slow, too torn, and how the shards of the looking glass had glimmered so prettily on the floor as her mother made her anger known. _(You foolish little girl, were you really so_ stupid _as to think that you could get rid of me that easily?)_ Her external wounds have since been healed, smoothed away for the King’s pleasure on their wedding night, and yet Regina can still feel the bruises hidden just beneath the surface of her skin when she moves too sharply. _This_ , Regina knows, is what magic yields. It cannot be used just once and then abandoned forevermore; it requires the sacrifice of one’s heart and soul to deliver what one seeks, and she _will not_ become Cora, not today, not ever.

“I know the price of your magic,” Regina replies, her voice wavering more than she would like. “I won’t be corrupted like she was. I’ll find another way.”

“Oh, darling.” Maleficent covers her mouth with a gloved hand as she laughs, then leans in close, her hand a heavy weight on the small of Regina’s back. “When you realize that there _is_ no other way... my offer will still stand.”

And then she’s gone, vanished into the night air, leaving Regina alone with her champagne and her misery.

*

The first time that Regina finds out that she’s pregnant, it is the first anniversary of Daniel’s death, and her mother is the one to tell her the news.

Cora’s face is alight with a brilliant smile, one that does not quite chase away the darkness from her eyes, when she comes to Regina at tea time that afternoon. Pressing an exuberant kiss to her daughter’s forehead, she cups Regina’s face with her hands in a gesture that is almost loving. Though Regina normally lives for moments like these, when her mother’s love is within her grasp, today she squirms beneath her mother’s touch, struggling to prevent the unusually persistent nausea that’s been plaguing her for the past few days from worsening as she recalls the way that those hands plucked Daniel’s heart from his chest and so easily crushed it to dust, as if it had never been anything at all. Her stomach heaves at the memory, and for a moment, Regina thinks that she’s going to be physically ill.

"What is the meaning of this?" she finally asks, warily pulling away from her mother’s grasp. Even as a very little girl, Regina understood that her mother’s smiles never foretold anything good.

"Oh, Regina, you’ve finally done it!" Cora grabs her hands in a hard squeeze, and Regina’s stomach sinks, because she knows, too, that this much physical contact is never a good sign. "The King is overjoyed! The court physician reports that your monthly examination was positive; you’re with child."

It takes Regina a moment to process the words, for the victorious expression on Cora’s face to convince her that she has not misheard. Once the realization sinks in, Regina can actually feel the color draining from her face as the edges of her vision start to fade away. "But I..." she begins weakly, struggling to remain conscious, "I thought for sure that... we’ve been married almost a year now..."

Cora laughs, and Regina remembers suddenly how her mother laughed that night, a year ago today, when Regina had swallowed all of her fear and asserted ownership over her own life, condemning Daniel to death in the process. "Oh, sweetheart, these things just take time sometimes. But come — we must present you to the King immediately!"

And because she doesn’t know what else to do, Regina does as she’s told; she goes to Leopold, whose joyful words about their son’s future as the heir to the throne are belied by the misery in his eyes. He summons Snow later to tell her the news, and the girl is positively beside herself with delight. "Oh, Regina, do you think that I could help you name the baby?" she begs, looking up at her stepmother with wide, innocent eyes. Her hand already rests against Regina’s still-flat stomach. "What about Rose Red? Or Sky Blue?"

Regina spends the whole evening with a smile glued to her face, ever mindful of Cora’s watchful gaze. She smiles and she laughs and she agrees that yes, Rose Red would be a lovely name for the baby, and with every passing minute, she feels herself falling further apart under the heavy weight of this happy façade.

Finally, after the hour has grown late, Regina is dismissed to her chambers — for the good of the child, the King smiles, because she herself has never meant anything to him. She steps into her bedchamber, alone for the first time since Cora came to tell her the news so many hours ago, and sucks in ragged breaths. Her bed stands dark and imposing in the dim light of the grate, and it’s here, watching the shadows flicker across the place where her nightmares become reality each month — where her nightmares were just recently given physical form — that she falls apart. She collapses onto the cold marble floor, her fingernails digging through the bodice of her dress and into flesh, wishing desperately that she could carve it out, destroy it before it destroys her. Bile rises and burns in her throat, and she can _feel_ him all over her, feel his heavy weight pressing down on her, burning inside of her. He’s colonized her, made it so that he’s always with her, so that she can never, ever escape him.

Meanwhile, sweet, loving Daniel, her only hope for salvation, remains cold and stiff in his unmarked grave because a silly little girl could not keep a secret, and because Regina never learned how to be a proper girl and resist the urge to play the hero. They should be married by now; it should be _his_ baby that she carries. He would have been a wonderful father, teaching their children to be loving and brave and strong and _good_. Instead, Regina is a failed and forgotten heroine, and her womb conspires against her to bring another self-centered, destructive king into the world to wreak misery and end happiness.

Until the early hours of the morning, Regina remains in a heap on her bedchamber floor, sobbing until she no longer has the strength to cry. Exhaustion finally carries her into sleep, and as it does, the last conscious thought she has is: _this cannot come to pass_.

A week later, after she has carefully observed and read and planned, Regina sneaks into the apothecary late at night and takes what she needs. After that, the deed is done; she breathes easily ( _easier_ ) again.

*

The second time that she conceives, Regina is the first to know; she is much more knowledgeable about spotting the tell-tale signs after two years spent worrying and dreading, so she puts two and two together before the physician has a chance to discover the truth.

When she realizes that the King’s seed has taken root in her yet again, Regina does not panic as she had before. Instead, she takes a deep breath and pictures the exact locations in the apothecary of the ingredients that she requires. This will be over and done with, she thinks, before her mother or husband are any the wiser.

This is what Regina thinks. But when she reaches for the handle to the apothecary door on another late night and is knocked backwards by a sudden, billowing cloud of black smoke that slowly takes the form of her furious mother, Regina knows that she will not be so lucky this time.

*

Despite Cora’s repeated insistence that pregnancy has made her daughter delicate and fragile, neither the midwife nor the court physician will agree to condemn their Queen to bed rest so early in her state. "Fresh air is the best thing for her," they say, "and gentle exercise is good for the child."

How quickly their tune changes once Cora holds their still-beating hearts in her hands.

*

The last bit of hope that Regina has left dies when the King and his wretched daughter so readily accept the physician’s trembling dictum that the Queen is not to have any visitors, or even leave her bedchamber. Cora makes quick work of purging every danger from the room: she removes all of the mirrors and other sharp objects, she charms her daughter’s bed sheets and clothing so that they will not form knots, and she erects an invisible barrier across the opening to the balcony that, no matter how hard Regina presses, will not yield to her.

Within twenty-four hours, Regina is a prisoner in both her home and her body.

As the weeks pass, her body begins to shift and change as it caters to the needs of the unwelcome parasite growing inside of her. She screams and pleads and slams her fists against her own flesh until her skin turns pink, red, purple, but still her breasts grow heavier as her stomach takes on a fullness that did not exist a few short weeks ago. Her head swims and pounds mercilessly, ceaselessly, and the tears come so easily now, even though these past three years trapped in this palace without love have made her like ice.

No matter what she does, her body will not yield to her desires, instead dutifully following the directives of Leopold’s seed. There is no tool available to her to make it stop, no herb or shard of glass to end her misery.

There is nothing, so Regina does the only thing that she can do: she refuses food.

Trays of hearty stews, of heavy meats drowned in rich sauces, lie untouched as her stomach growls and aches and remains blissfully flat. If her body will insist on nourishing the parasite, then Regina will refuse to nourish her body, and she comes to find a grotesque sense of pleasure in the way that her bones jut sharply through sickeningly pallid, sunken skin. As her body continues to shrink and wither away, reverting almost to its prepubescent state, Regina becomes more and more convinced that freedom is within her grasp; it will be hers, once this cage of a form fades into nothingness.

The fatal flaw in Regina’s plan is that starvation leaves her weak; she has no energy left to fight when Cora binds her to the bed and force-feeds her until she is healthy again, until her belly finally begins to swell with life.

*

The kicking is the worst.

There is nothing to occupy Regina’s time; Cora had all of her books removed after Regina tore a thick stack of pages from a dynastic history tome and shoved it down her throat, hoping to choke. She has never stored any games in the room, either, and even if she had, Cora is her only visitor, save for the midwife’s weekly check-up.

During the first trimester, Regina slept between crying spells, slipping into fitful dreams of Daniel and Cora and Leopold and the slow flow of crimson blood. Now, though, sleep is a distant thing, forever kept at bay by the movements of the… of _it_. _It_ stretches its limbs, digging into her bladder and her ribs and whatever else suits its fancy, and Regina can think of nothing else but its unwelcome presence. Sometimes, Regina forgets where she is and why; she forgets and thinks that its movements are its father’s, that Leopold is bearing down on her, his breath hot and putrid as he moans into her ear, his grunts coming in time with each kick.

But then Regina remembers herself; he is not here, and yet she knows that she is not quite wrong, either.

In the evening, Cora comes with supper; she sets down a tray of food on the nightstand next to Regina and then lays her hands on her daughter’s stomach. "This is your future King, Regina," she says softly, sweetly, rubbing the spot against which a limb presses. It’s almost soothing, this unusual display of tenderness, but then Cora’s lips curve upward in that victorious smile that she’s worn almost constantly since the wedding. "This is your son. I don’t understand why you won’t see how wonderful this is."

Regina curls away from her mother’s touch as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think of anything else.

*

Around the end of the second trimester, the midwife arrives to conduct a series of tests. As Regina lies on her back with her head facing the other direction — the only form of resistance left to her now — the midwife pokes and prods her tender, taut flesh. _It_ responds to the midwife’s ministrations by kicking in return, and Regina grimaces as she is again overcome with the sensation that her body is no longer her own, that it serves merely as a barrier between worlds while fully existing in neither.

The internal movements finally slow as the midwife’s hands withdraw. Regina is about to exhale in relief when the older woman pulls out several vials of herbs and spices. This is a very old form of magic, Regina knows; it is one used to read the threads of life, but Regina cannot separate it in her head from the magic her mother uses to bind her in the air, to keep her trapped in this room day after day, to transform life into death. She screams and she whimpers and she thrashes, and it’s only when Cora yet again harnesses that dark magic that Regina stills and silences.

Soundless tears have formed rivers down her cheeks by the time that the midwife has finished. Brushing her hands free of excess herbs and magic, she turns to Cora and says, "The child is healthy and strong." There is something like disbelief in the woman’s tone. "She should be in Her Majesty’s arms in about thirteen weeks’ time."

A heavy silence sinks over the room as both mother and daughter digest the full meaning of the woman’s words. " _She_?" Cora finally chokes out, her features frozen in what Regina could almost mistake for fear. "My daughter is carrying the Crown Prince—"

"Forgive me, my lady," the midwife interrupts, "but you know that my methods are accurate. The Queen is expecting a princess."

Cora’s mouth hangs open for a few moments before awkwardly snapping shut. "Well, then," she says, speaking more to fill the void than anything. She turns to her daughter with an accusing glare, as if all of Regina’s rebellious ways have turned the King’s heir into another useless princess. After a few moments, though, her expression shifts, and she declares evenly, "There is no need to despair just yet. You are still young enough; you will bear the King this daughter, and then sons will follow. This is only a minor setback."

The words are calm, collected, but Regina can see the truth beneath her mother’s façade: for the first time since the start of this pregnancy, Cora looks worried.

And, for the first time in months, Regina does not know what to think.

*

After Cora finally leaves, whisking out of the room with a swish of her black cloak, Regina crawls out of bed and teeters towards the balcony on legs wobbly and weak with disuse. She wonders for a moment when it was that she last willingly left her bed and cannot recall; some time before she resorted to starvation, she thinks. A few feet before reaching the balcony, Regina stops, frozen a safe distance from her mother’s magical barrier, and just watches the treetops sway in the distance. It’s a cloudy day, but within a few minutes, the sun manages to peek through the heavy cover, sending a warm shaft of light into the room. She closes her eyes, nearly content with how nice it feels. Almost instantly, though, a series of gentle kicks emanate from her womb, and Regina’s fingernails dig into her palms as her vision blurs with tears.

All these months, she has been envisioning a little tyrant king lying in wait within her, a miniature version of Leopold who will take and hurt and destroy with an affable grin on his face: Leopold’s spawn, Leopold’s heir, Leopold’s legacy. But this creature whose movements create ripples across her skin, who exalts in its mother’s happiness at the warmth of the sun on her face, is not the future King; it’s a tiny baby girl, and Regina will be her mother — her _real_ mother, not some sham of a mother trotted out to entertain during the day and then shunned at night after Daddy’s finished the day’s work. The idea that an actual _baby_ , so small and defenseless and with all the promise in the world, will come out of her body in just three months’ time makes her head swim with the magnitude of it all.

_The child is still Leopold’s_ , part of her thinks, repulsed by the idea of either of Leopold’s daughters calling her “Mother.” This one could grow up to be as wretched as Snow White, spoiled and selfish and so, so careless, but even as Regina tries to cling to that thought, she knows that it’s wrong. A son would be Leopold’s heir by default, but the daughter of his second wife, his consolation prize, would mean exceedingly little to him. This child would be all hers, if she so desired: hers to love and be loved by.

The tears begin to fall in earnest as Regina wraps her arms around her torso, her swollen belly getting in the way of one of her oldest forms of self-comfort. She never wanted this; had she gotten her way, she would have ended this pregnancy when it was little more than a microscopic clump of cells, just as she did with the first. As much as Regina wishes that it were otherwise, though, the time for that has passed. If Cora gets her way, Regina will give birth to the King’s second Princess, an unwanted baby girl in need of a mother. Regina knows keenly the pain of feeling unwanted by one’s mother, of feeling as if nothing will ever be good enough to warrant that elusive maternal love. The thought of her own child experiencing that pain is more than enough to make her sick, but even above that, Regina cannot bear the thought that she might become like her mother after all.

The longer that Regina stands in that rare ray of sunshine, watching as the wind tousles the leaves, the more evident it becomes what she must do: she has to let go of all of her anger, hatred, and fear, and just love. It’s a frightening prospect, though; anger and hatred are the only weapons that she has against Cora. How can she fight back if she’s giving in to her mother’s every last desire?

“I don’t know how to do this,” Regina murmurs pointlessly. She’s sealed away in this room; there’s no one to hear her, no one to help her. She is, save for that brief, beautiful respite when Daniel stood at her side, as she has always been — alone. But then, as if it had existed within her all this time, the answer comes to her with a kick, the sun still warm and comforting on her bare skin.

Regina will continue to fight, but this time, she will fight for two.

*

Her plan is not the easiest. Even though Regina can feel her broken, untended heart filling with love once more, she still has moments of panic spurred by her body’s changes. Sometimes, she wakes in the middle of the night, her limbs thrashing as blood pounds in her ears, and is certain that he’s here, that he’s inside of her, claiming her, before she realizes that it’s just the baby kicking. She curls around her belly then, whispering lullabies as she strokes her sore flesh to calm her child and focuses on slowing her own panicked breathing, and it’s amazing how soon the nightmare begins to fade away.

It’s not easy, but Regina’s found a way to love again, to cling to life instead of waiting for death, and she’ll take it over and over again. She’s long craved a good fight.

The first step in fighting, though, is acquiescing. It feels wrong to play the dutiful daughter after so many months of bitter rage, but if she is going to build a life for her daughter and herself, she has to get out of this room and uncover whatever terrible plans that her mother undoubtedly has for her child. So Regina conjures up the most powerful image she can muster — her little girl growing up in a cozy cottage in the woods, safely tucked away from the crown and dark magic as she learns to ride horses and be fearless and brave and bold — and swallows her pride. When Cora enters the room, Regina is out of bed, dressed, and smiling; when she brings food, Regina eats it without complaint; and when Cora demands that she partake in some light calisthenics for the baby’s wellbeing, Regina is quick to obey.

It’s a testament to how badly the news that her grandchild is not the King’s heir has shaken her mother that Cora only shows minimal satisfaction with her daughter’s newfound obedience. It irks a small part of Regina, truthfully, the part that will always crave her mother’s approval. But, eventually, Regina’s good behavior ceases to be unrewarded.

“I must say, it’s good to see you finally acting like a proper mother-to-be,” Cora sniffs one afternoon after Regina has finished her lunch, a few weeks after the midwife’s visit. “Your earlier theatrics were completely unbecoming of a queen.”

Comments like these would normally test her limits, but the baby chooses that moment to do a somersault, and Regina can’t help but get a little caught up in the moment. It feels like having a secret all to herself, and she gets a little teary-eyed as she realizes that this is what loving Daniel felt like, too.

Perhaps, she muses, true love can never be fully destroyed — only transformed into something new and equally beautiful.

Regina looks up to see Cora watching her with the strangest expression on her face, as if she’s trying to solve a riddle, but it’s gone so quickly that Regina can’t quite be sure that she didn’t imagine it. “You know,” Cora begins, “I was thinking that some fresh air might serve you well after all.”

Regina’s whole face lights up as her hands still atop her stomach. “Truly?” she breathes.

“Some of your ladies have expressed a desire for a party to celebrate the coming birth of the Princess. Perhaps we could have a garden party tomorrow and evaluate your behavior from there?”

“I would like that very much,” Regina answers cautiously. “Thank you.”

Cora smiles, and it’s not her triumphant smirk; Regina might think it genuine if she believed her mother capable of such a thing. “Oh, darling,” she says, and when she presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, Regina is sickened to feel the tiniest ember of joy light up in her chest even as the rest of her body reacts with revulsion. “All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness.”

*

Even before Regina fully emerges from her slumber that night, she knows that something is terribly wrong. The pain that sears across her lower belly is so sharp, so strong, that she bolts upright in bed, gasping desperately for air. Her eyes grow wide in the dim moonlight as she feels something warm and sticky pooling between her thighs.

“Help!” she chokes out, clutching her stomach as the tears start to fall. Someone has to come right away, has to make the pain go away, because this cannot be happening again; she cannot be so terrible a person that the gods have seen fit to rip a second happy ending from her grasp. “Please, someone!”

“Hush, darling,” comes a cool, soft voice. Regina jumps as Cora steps out of the shadows, gliding forward to sit at her daughter’s side. Taking Regina’s hand into her own, she adds, “It will all be over soon.”

"Mother, my baby," Regina cries, unable to comprehend anything but the pain and the fear. It feels as if her insides are being ripped open and flipped inside out. “It’s too early; something’s wrong.”

Cora sighs as she gazes sadly at her child. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I wish that I could spare you from this pain."

The words are all wrong, Regina knows, but the pain is so great that she cannot quite work out exactly what is happening. “Mother, please, she’s coming!” she wails. “Why won’t you help me?”

“Because it _has_ to be this way,” Cora insists, running her fingers through Regina’s sweat-dampened hair. “The King grows old, Regina, and his fertility grows poorer with each passing day. We must deliver him an heir as quickly as possible, and there just isn’t the time for you to endure the rest of this pregnancy, to bear him another princess and suckle her through infancy. We must act now.”

Regina gapes at her mother for a few minutes, trying to process what she’s just heard, before she explodes. “You can’t! Not now, not after everything!” She can feel that familiar rage bubbling up inside of her, the rage that had screamed in her head that morning close to four years ago now, screamed for her to just push her mother and finally be free. But then another contraction hits her, this one more terrible than all the rest, and suddenly she’s that little girl again, curled in a ball on the floor amidst all the lovely mirror shards, begging for her mother’s forgiveness. “Please, it’s too early,” she chokes out. “She’s not ready.”

“I know,” Cora murmurs, her face the picture of sympathy. “It’s going to be hard, but you are strong. You will get through this, and all of your tears will be forgotten when you present the King with his son. Just think of how wonderful that will be!”

And at that moment, in the moon’s pale light, as the contraction finally begins to recede, everything becomes perfectly clear. “ _Liar_. If that were _truly_ your motivation, you would have done this weeks ago, the very moment that the midwife proclaimed this baby to be a girl. It’s because I _want_ her,” Regina groans, fighting back a scream as another contraction hits her. Cora’s face shifts in the darkness, grows hard with rage, but Regina presses on, because what does it matter if everything she loves will be taken from her anyway? “I _want_ her, and you can’t stand the fact that I have someone other than _you_ now.”

Lightning fast, Cora’s hand is around Regina’s throat, her grip stronger than that of any spell she ever cast over her child. Regina cannot breathe, not even a wisp of precious oxygen, and the baby is coming _now_ , and every single cell of her being is exploding with agony. “It doesn’t matter how many children you bear,” Cora snarls in Regina’s face, her eyes dark and hard with rage, “or how many stable boys tell you that their love for you is true. I am your mother, and you are _everything_ you are today because of _me_. I carried you, I bore you, I fed you from my own breast. I gave you life, and I fought against all the odds — your wild and unruly disposition, your willful disobedience, your base taste for dirty peasant men — and I made you Queen. _I_ put that ring on your finger, and this baby in your belly, and I will take it all away from you if I so please.”

Hot tears stream down Regina’s face as she futilely pries at her mother’s hand. Her vision starts to blur, and there’s just so much pain, and it’s _everywhere_ , almost as if she has no physical body, as if the entirety of existence itself is unending pain. Just as everything begins to grow dark, and Regina comes to accept that her mother has chosen to take away her life, too, Cora’s hand is gone. Regina coughs and splutters and sobs, trying desperately to draw breath into her lungs, as Cora stands, drawing herself up to her full height. “You are mine, Regina. You will _always_ be mine.”

Regina’s tears are no longer from the pain. “ _Please_ ,” she croaks, forcing her words out around bruised and sore vocal chords. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll listen to you always, and I’ll never disobey you again. Please don’t… don’t take her from—”

Her words are swallowed by a scream this time, and a pain that burns hot between her legs. Cora makes a humming noise under her breath as she pushes a sweaty lock of hair back from Regina’s face. “Oh, I think you’re close, darling. It’s time to fetch the midwife, I think.”

“Please.” Regina’s voice is small, but Cora still stops just before reaching the door. Though she’s writhing amidst her sheets, Regina never breaks eye contact with her mother. “I’ll be yours. I _am_ yours. Please, Mommy…”

A smile spreads slowly across Cora’s lips.

And then she walks out the door.

*

When Regina saw her mother pluck Daniel’s still-beating heart from his chest, she’d thought that all happiness had been lost to her. Daniel was dead; he would never again kiss her, or hold her in his arms, or flash a reassuring smile over her mother’s shoulder as Cora launched into yet another tirade against her. Without Daniel, all hope for a happy ending had seemingly vanished forever.

Regina looks down now at the impossibly small baby girl nestled in the crook of her arm and sees that hope for a happy ending reflected in the depths of her daughter’s dark eyes. She had not even loved Daniel at first sight — that had come later, after trust had been established — but Regina found a way to love this child even as she grew inside of her. Now that she’s here, it’s as if a dam has burst within Regina’s heart, flooding her body with so much love that even the pain of Daniel’s loss feels smaller, bearable.

The baby mercifully looks nothing like Leopold or his kin; even Cora’s features are absent. She is all Regina, from the head full of thick, dark hair to the warm brown eyes and full, pink lips, and it feels a little bit like redemption to see herself mirrored in this innocent newborn. After several moments spent memorizing every detail of her daughter’s tiny form, Regina decides to name her child Amy. It’s not on the list of approved names for princes and princesses of the realm, but she doesn’t care; she wants her daughter to hear her name and always know that she is precious and beloved, not a pawn in a grand plan to seize power and wealth.

Amy stirs in her arms, and Regina can feel love trying to mend her heart into something whole and beautiful again. It’s amazing, really, that such a new and small human being could have such a profound effect on her. The whole concept makes Regina inclined to believe that her daughter is actually perfect.

But then, Regina knows that’s not quite true, because even though she isn’t learned in the sciences of the human body, she understands that the way that Amy takes wheezing gasps of air is not indicative of anything remotely good. Panic barrels its way into Regina’s senses as her postpartum high quickly fades, and she finally tears her gaze away from her newborn to pleadingly meet the midwife’s somber expression.

“Please,” Regina begs, wrapping her arms tighter around her baby. “She’s not well. You have to help her.”

The midwife just shakes her head, the candlelight reflecting off the tears forming in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty, but there is nothing to be done.”

The admission hits Regina in the gut like a battering ram; it takes her a few moments before she’s able to regain her breath. “But you have magic! There must be _something_!”

The woman is silent for a moment before her answer quietly comes: “All magic comes with a price.”

And oh, if there’s one thing that Regina knows, it’s _that_ ; those that she loves are forever paying the principle for the cost of her mother’s magic, while Regina is left with the never-ending interest. “I’ll pay it tenfold!” she cries, because she would; despite all that she’s already lost, she would pay it every day for the rest of her life to keep Amy healthy and safe in her arms. “Please, you have to heal her.”

“I’m sorry,” the midwife answers, her cheeks wet with tears now, “but Your Majesty has not been authorized to make that payment.”

It does not take long for Regina to understand. Were it Snow White whose life rested in the balance, Leopold would pay any price to save her, but with Regina’s daughter, he is cautious and calculating, unwilling to bargain with fate for the life of an infant princess when the price will undoubtedly be far more precious to him. Anger, hurt, and fear all grip her heart as she frantically racks her brain for some way to save her baby, and when Regina realizes that she has no further recourse, the first sob rips through her throat.

“Amy, please,” Regina moans. She clutches her daughter closer to her chest, praying to the gods in whom she ceased to believe long ago that Amy will hear the heavy, frantic beat of her mother’s heart, the quick, strong woosh of air through her lungs, and understand how to continue living. It’s all as futile as the rest of her life, but she has to try _something_. 

The smart thing to do, she knows, would be to rebuild that dam in her heart and lock away all this love, to become ice once more before her light disappears; her mother would sneeringly insist upon this. But Regina knows that it’s far too late for that now — she’s so engulfed with overwhelming, uncontrollable love for this little girl that it’s seeped into her bones and completely saturated her flesh. She’s drowning in this love, and she’s powerless to save herself.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Regina murmurs. Her voice cracks slightly as tears roll down her cheeks. “Mommy’s right here.”

Amy has grown very still in Regina’s arms; there’s only the jerking crest of her chest with each sporadic, labored breath. “I promise to protect you, to never leave you and always keep you safe, but Amy, I need you to fight. Please, fight for me.” Her lips tremble as she presses a kiss to Amy’s forehead, tears splashing into her baby’s downy hair. “Please don’t go. Stay, please, Amy, I love you...”

And then, of course, Amy stops breathing, because everyone, in the end, leaves Regina.

*

The days immediately after Amy’s death are long and endless, a perpetual stream of pain that makes the seconds pass by like hours. In those rare moments of quiet after Regina has spent all of her energy sobbing, when she lies limp and numb in her bed, she thinks of Daniel. His death is a jagged, yawning hole in her chest, a mortal wound that kills her little by little each day, but that agony is nothing in comparison to what she feels at Amy’s loss. Her heart and soul long for Daniel, but Amy was part of her very flesh; every inch of her body mourns her absence. Her stomach rumbles as it digests what little she’s managed to force down, and even though Regina can think of nothing but the fact that she will never again hold her daughter in her arms, she still thinks for just a moment that the movement is her baby kicking. It’s only ever for a moment, but that tiny flicker of impossible hope is like a sword through her already decimated heart.

The funeral only causes more pain. Heads of state from kingdoms near and far arrive to pay their respects, although most are unable to hide the fact that they have come only to curry Leopold’s favor, not to mourn the death of a useless little princess who took breath for only a handful of minutes. Leopold is much the same, awkwardly patting his wife’s hand when she cries out as the priests close the tiny coffin.

Only Snow White is sincere in her grief, weeping against her stepmother’s bosom before the ceremony begins. “I’m so sorry, Regina,” the Princess sobs. “I was so looking forward to being a big sister.” But Regina can only think of how Daniel would still be alive had Snow White kept her traitorous mouth shut, how she never would have had to watch helplessly as her daughter died in her arms, and the girl’s grief is meaningless to the rage and pain inside of her.

However, the moment that ultimately breaks Regina comes later, after the funeral, when her lady’s maid strips the black mourning gown and petticoats from her sore, aching body. Daisy is peeling away the corset when Regina hears the girl gasp; when she looks down, she sees two mysteriously wet spots spreading across her chemise.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” Daisy stammers as Regina stares uncomprehendingly at her own chest. The damp fabric clings to her breasts and feels sticky against her skin, and it’s so strange, because she cannot recall spilling anything on herself. “Let me call for the apothecary. He should be able to prescribe you some herbs—”

And then suddenly, Regina understands; what’s left of her world crumbles to ash beneath her.

“Get out.” The words are a wheezed whisper, her chest so tight that she can barely breathe.

“Your Majesty, please—”

“ _Get out!_ ” Regina screams, and the sound is so terrible that the girl obeys, backing away slowly from her Queen before dashing out the door.

There is a sob bubbling up in Regina’s chest, one that she knows will never end if she lets it escape, so she breaks into a run the moment that Daisy closes the door. She runs to her balcony and doesn’t stop; when she reaches the balustrade, she pushes her body atop it and flings herself over the edge.

*

For long moments, there is only the rush of wind past Regina’s ears as she falls towards the earth. She falls and she falls until suddenly she’s not falling anymore; she’s floating up, towards the sky, and she thinks that she must have missed the impact. She’s left her body, and her spirit is soaring away, off to be reunited with Daniel and Amy. For the first time in nearly four years, Regina feels at peace. Happy.

Her ascent slows as she reaches her own balcony, but it’s not until Regina sees her mother standing at the ledge, her hand outstretched and magic crackling against her palm, that Regina realizes that her body is still intact and alive.

“You selfish bitch.” With a wave of Cora’s hand, Regina crashes into the unyielding surface of her marble balcony. Stars still dance in her vision as Cora takes firm hold of her by the hair and half-drags, half-throws her back into her bedchamber. Regina is still too disoriented to catch herself, and she tumbles into the footboard of her bed, her shoulder and back taking the brunt of the impact. “First you disgrace your family by denying the King an heir for all these years, and now you seek to disgrace us again by taking your own life?”

“I can’t...” Regina’s voice wavers as she speaks, and she makes no effort to stand to face her mother, for what does any of that matter anymore? “I don’t want to live in a world where my baby is dead. It _hurts_...”

“So you would take your own life and inflict that pain on me instead?” The fury in Cora’s tone is palpable, but for the briefest of moments, Regina sees other emotions flicker across Cora’s face — there’s terror there, and sorrow, but most of all, Regina sees her own pain reflected on her mother’s features. Regina blinks, though, and then it’s gone, and she’s not entirely sure that she didn’t hallucinate the whole thing. “You stupid, silly little girl. All of this over a child that you hated so fiercely even as it grew within you?”

The accusation hits Regina squarely in the chest; she doubles over so that she’s practically lying flat on the floor. She’s tried to avoid this because there’s already too much pain, but Cora has smashed down Regina’s defenses, and there it is, the terrible truth that she has been trying to avoid: this is exactly what Regina wanted, once. Even after all of her attempts in captivity to induce a miscarriage had failed, and it became clear that she _would_ be a mother, Regina’s greatest wish had still been for the child growing within her to wither and die, to be done with her body at last. She denied her daughter love and acceptance, just like the one woman in whose footsteps Regina swore never to follow, and even though she tried to take it all back, tried to be _good_ , it’s too late; her terrible wish has been granted. Save for those last few happy weeks, Amy’s entire existence was one of unending pain, from her mother starving them both of sustenance and love to the handful of labored breaths she managed to take before suffocating under the weight of lungs too weak to take in oxygen. Regina thought that she would have time, years and years, to shower her baby with love and happiness, to make things up to her, but now she’s _gone_ , and the guilt and the grief combined are too much.

“Amy, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” Regina sobs. She looks back up at her mother, who watches her silently, her brow creased in confusion. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know how much I could love her.”

Cora inhales sharply. “Did you learn nothing from that whole unfortunate mess with that stable boy, Regina? Love is a disease. It burrows beneath the skin, clouding judgment and conquering thought. It takes and consumes until there’s nothing of you left, only _love_. I warned you of this, and yet you still chose to disobey me?”

She’s right, of course; Regina knows all too well the folly of giving oneself over to love, and yet she cannot help herself. Tales of true love were a staple of her childhood, glimmering moments of happiness when she was tucked in her father’s lap with a storybook, and all that Regina’s ever wanted was a happy ending of her own. But her love is a toxic, deadly thing: it killed Daniel, and now it’s murdered her baby, too.

Regina crawls forward to her mother’s feet and desperately clutches at the hem of her dress. She’s beyond caring about fighting and winning now; Amy is all that matters. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, _be_ anything that you want, just please bring her back! Please give her back to me!” Regina presses her right hand against her heart, as if she could reach inside and extract every last drop of pain. “I can’t bear this agony anymore. I need her, Mother, please!”

“You _need_ her?” Cora wrenches Regina upwards by the chin, her fingernails leaving bloody half-moon crescents in their wake as Regina stumbles to her feet. “You need _her_?”

It takes Regina a moment to understand what happens next. She sees the sunlight gleam golden against her mother’s ring as it comes toward her, but before she can even ponder the how or why of the situation, her chest is exploding, burning, caving in on itself, and there’s something else there, something that should not be—

“Tell me again who you _need_ , darling?” Cora coos coldly, and Regina can feel her mother’s fist crushing her heart like a trap, feel the stone on her ring scraping against her ribs and pressing into her lung, robbing her of breath. _This must be what Daniel’s last moments were like_ , she thinks, and tears pour down her cheeks at the realization. Though death still feels preferable to life in her husband’s hellish court, Regina does not want to die at her mother’s hands; she’s never been allowed a single choice in her life, and she wants, just once, to taste freedom before her life ends.

“ _Please_ ,” Regina wheezes. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good—”

Cora squeezes harder, and Regina can feel her heart bulging in her chest, struggling to pump blood through her mother’s viselike grip. She tries to scream, but there’s no room for her lungs to expand and take in air, and everything grows hazy and dizzy. “Answer my question: who is the one person, the _only_ person in this world that you need, who will ensure that you survive and thrive as the Queen you were born to be?”

The pressure against her lungs eases up just enough for Regina to breathe again, and she knows the lie that she must tell. “You are, Mommy,” she says, and it feels like she’s failed and betrayed Amy all over again, “You are, I’m sorry, please…”

And like that, the unbearable pressure is gone, and Regina’s knees give way. Before she can sink too far, Cora grabs hold of her around her waist and supports her, clutching her safe against her chest. Regina’s heart beats heavily against her ribs, lurching desperately to keep the blood flowing, and she feels the sudden need to vomit.

“Oh, Regina, my sweet girl,” Cora murmurs, stroking her hair in a way that almost feels sincere. “You’ve been through so much these past few days; you must be simply exhausted. Here, let me help you into bed.”

Mother is terribly gentle as she takes a warm, wet washcloth and wipes the tears from Regina’s face and the milk from her breasts. In only a few minutes, she has Regina dressed in her nightclothes and tucked into bed with a bottle of hot water to relieve the ache from her new bruises. The atmosphere is now so calm, and her mind so foggy, that Regina almost wonders if she didn’t imagine everything that just transpired. But she knows her mother; she knows how talented the woman is at transitioning from sweetly tender to violently belligerent in the span of just a few seconds.

“I’ll send for the apothecary immediately,” Cora says as Regina settles against her pillows. “He’ll be able to prescribe you some herbs to stop you from lactating and help you sleep. You’ll be feeling better before you know it.”

“Thank you.” The words are automatic and meaningless; the last thing that Regina wants is to be trapped in this bed again, the same bed where she plotted and prayed for her child’s death, and where her desperate penance was not enough to take it all back.

“Don’t fret, my love. I’ve found a fertility potion for both you and the King to take, and another potion to help you heal more quickly. You’ll be holding your son, the future King, in your arms very soon. Just rest for now, darling. Mother has everything under control.”

“Yes, Mother. Thank you.”

Cora beams. “That’s my good girl.” She stoops down to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, and Regina feels that tiny ember of joy and hope light up inside of her again, even though she’s so, so angry and sick with grief, and she hates herself even more for it. “I will always be here to care for you and protect you. Sleep now, my love.”

Exhaustion rolls over Regina as heavily as fog off the shore; she blinks, but her vision blurs, and it grows harder and harder to open her eyes. Her eyelids flutter shut, but before sleep can claim her, Regina catches one more glimpse of her mother’s smiling face, and she finally comes to accept the agonizing truth that she’s sought to deny for so long.

Cora will never let her be free.

*

_Epilogue_

“Your Majesty, this seems to be turning into a pattern with you.”

Regina smiles faintly to herself, but does not move from where she is seated beside her little plot in the palace gardens. Though the royal gardeners and the Princess herself swear that they tended dutifully to her flowers during her confinement, her rose bushes are quite clearly on the verge of death; rich, velvety petals as red as apples and blood are now wilted, drooping like crimson teardrops. Briefly, Regina wonders if her traitorous stepdaughter killed them in retaliation for not being allowed to see her during her pregnancy — such destructive passive-aggression is a fact of the girl’s existence, after all.

“Not at all,” Regina finally says, abandoning her flowers for a lost cause and sweeping to her feet to greet her guest. “I simply knew that the easiest way to attract your attention would be to avoid it at all costs.”

Maleficent smiles, although the gesture does not chase away the danger from her eyes. “Smart girl. You must truly be desperate for my attention if you chose this venue to seek it. Aren’t you the least bit worried that the Princess will come looking for her beloved mother to help her celebrate such a special day?”

“I am no one’s mother, least of all _hers_.” The plan had been to show Maleficent no emotion, to remain calm and collected, but Regina angrily rips fistfuls of dying petals off her bushes and throws them to the ground, willing to show Maleficent the extent of her rage if it means that the fallen fairy will miss the tears that fill her eyes and the way that her throat constricts with emotion. Snow White’s sixteenth birthday party is every young girl’s dream come true; she is the belle of the ball, resplendent in perfect, virginal white, and every royal and noble for miles and miles have come to pay her favor and praise her beauty and kindness.

Regina had a grand ball for her sixteenth birthday, too. She still has nightmares sometimes about that day, about how great her mother’s wrath had been as she tore through Regina’s wind-tangled locks and furiously coated her sun-bronzed skin with pale powder. _No man will want to marry a woman who runs wild through the moors every day and forgets her place!_ Cora had screamed as she pulled Regina’s corset laces so tight that she could scarcely breathe, let alone eat anything all night. She’d been so scared, so terrified of disappointing her mother, that she’d made a fool of herself with every “worthy” bachelor that evening, which naturally only served to fuel her mother’s anger further.

And Amy… Amy will never celebrate her sixteenth birthday, or even her first. The only splendid gown that she will ever wear is her funeral shroud; she will never dance, or laugh, or find true love. Death is all that this wretched world ever had to offer her.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, that was so insensitive of me,” Maleficent says, the hint of a smirk on her lips and in her voice. Swishing over to Regina’s side, she peers down disinterestedly at the wreckage of Regina’s garden as she adds, “But you and dear Leopold must be so thrilled that you’re already with child again so soon after the little Princess’s death.”

Regina falters momentarily as panic sweeps over her. She’s told no one yet of her condition — her monthly examination isn’t for a few more days still — but if Maleficent has magic, and Maleficent knows…

“Don’t worry. Your mother isn’t all-powerful, Regina. I was once a fairy; we’re more closely attuned to the ebb and flow of life than most, even after we’ve been stripped of our wings.”

Regina finally releases the breath she’s been holding, her shoulders sinking in relief. “Then you know that I am _not_ thrilled about this — that I do not wish to have this child.”

“I do, although I must admit that I do not understand your reasoning,” Maleficent replies, cocking her head slightly as a sneer crosses her lips. “Aren’t babies the source of _all_ mortal women’s happiness, after all? The cure for their every sorrow and heartache?”

“If this child is a boy, then he will be Leopold’s heir. They will take him from me when he is young to prevent me from making him too _soft_ , and they will raise him to be a vacuous tyrant like his father. This world already has too many of those.”

“And if it’s a girl?”

Regina has to remind herself to breathe, in and out, in and out. “Then my mother has already written her fate.”

“Oh.” A grin spreads across Maleficent’s face. “You want more from me than just an end to your pregnancy, don’t you?”

With a roll of her eyes, Regina asks, “Can we cease with all of the games already? Yes, I’m ready to accept your offer, just as you knew I would be when you approached me. Now let’s speak frankly, shall we?”

“Oh, darling, don’t you know? The game is where the only true fun lies in all of this. But if you insist…” Maleficent sighs. “I can give you a potion to terminate your pregnancy tonight — I believe you’re already familiar with some of the herbs involved? And with a few months of dedicated training on your part, I can teach you how to kill your mother.”

“No!” Regina’s reaction is desperate and without thought; she actually grasps Maleficent’s free hand and _begs_. “We can’t kill her! I don’t want her dead!”

“Forgive me if I have the details wrong, dear, but didn’t your mother murder the man you loved, sell you to a man nearly thrice your age like a _horse_ , and then hold you captive for months in order to force you to breed against your will? And you’re opposed to killing her… _why_?”

“She’s still my mother,” Regina responds, and she can’t quite stop her voice from wavering as she says it. “She’s a monster, and I want to be free of her — but I wish her no harm.”

Maleficent is so still and silent for the longest moment. Finally, her brow wrinkles, and she says slowly, “You still love her.”

And Regina cannot even dream of denying it, not when she feels that love so acutely, like a crown of thorns pressing into her heart and leaching splinters into her bloodstream. It’s _sick_ , because Cora has done unspeakable things — things that should never be done to _anyone_ , let alone one’s own child — but all that she has to do is offer Regina the faintest glimmer of a smile, and Regina is prepared to forgive her for everything, to run into her mother’s arms and drink in her ever-elusive love.

“Yes,” she finally answers, and there’s no hiding the shame, the devastation in her tone. “She’s my mother.”

Maleficent goes quiet again, staring at her staff for a long time. “I’m not your fairy godmother, Regina. I don’t grant wishes anymore. I can teach you how to wield magic yourself, but if freedom is what you truly desire, you have to _take_ it for yourself. And to do something like that… you’ll have to give yourself over to your anger and hatred and relinquish the love you still hold for your mother. In short, you’ll have to let darkness into your heart, and once it’s there, it can never be erased. You need to decide _now_ if you’re willing to commit to this path, because my time is valuable, and I don’t take kindly to those who waste it.”

Once, Maleficent’s words would have made Regina rethink her course of action; once, Regina would never have even _considered_ willingly speaking with Maleficent about the weather, let alone dark magic. But that girl, the one who dreamt only of a simple cottage with Daniel and their babies and finally winning her mother’s love and acceptance, died with her fiancé. Life in the palace has disabused Regina of every fanciful notion she once held of herself. Since she was small, she’s tried so hard to be good, to be worthy of love and happiness, but it’s never been enough; she’s always been too headstrong, too stubborn, too wicked. For all of her faults, not even Cora is a cruel enough mother to wish death upon her own child. No, she even warned Regina about the dangers of love, of the destruction it wreaks, but Regina never listened, not to her words themselves or the underlying threat that came delivered with Daniel’s corpse. Cora might have instigated Amy’s death, but it’s Regina who has her daughter’s blood all over her hands.

So Regina breathes deeply and bids that ghost of a girl gone; she straightens her back and shoulders, steels her face, and reminds herself that she is a _queen_. “Oh Maleficent, dear, you have no need to be afraid,” she laughs, even as her knees tremble slightly. _Freedom_ , she reminds herself. “My heart turned to ash long ago. The _real_ question here is what it is that you want from me. What is the price of your tutelage?”

Maleficent’s icy blue eyes hold Regina’s face in their gaze for the longest time, silently scrutinizing and appraising her features. So much time elapses without words being spoken that Regina is certain that she’s failed, that Maleficent has seen her weakness and is now plotting her destruction, but just as Regina decides to rush back to the party, to safety, Maleficent laughs.

“I’m not Rumplestiltskin, darling. I don’t require elaborate deals that inevitably go badly for the other party in order to work with someone. Trust me, I have no need for your tears, or your first— well, anything like that.”

“So you expect me to believe that you’re helping me out of the goodness of your heart?” Regina scoffs. “I’m not a child; I know perfectly well that no one in this world does anything simply to be _nice_. So tell me. There must be _something_ you want.”

“All I ask for in return is your loyalty and allegiance, Regina, things that I assume that you also wish to have from me. That’s it, I promise. There are no hidden loopholes, no binding contract for you to sign. Just give me your word, and we can start our work.”

It all sounds far too good to be true, and Regina is about to put an end to this charade when something in Maleficent’s expression catches her attention. The emotion that softens her eyes for the most fleeting of moments is painfully familiar to Regina; she thinks at first that it is sorrow, but after thinking on it for a second, she realizes that it’s something else.

Loneliness.

“Okay,” Regina says, and the grin that spreads across Maleficent’s face should terrify her, but she has nothing left to lose; all that she loves has already been ripped away from her. There is nothing left to fear anymore. “I accept your offer and give you my word.”

“ _Excellent_.” Maleficent extends her hand in offering. “Shall we shake on it?”

Maleficent’s hand is hot against hers, and her fingernails are long and sharp, and Regina tries to swallow away the feeling that she’s made a terrible mistake.


End file.
